The big day finally arrived. The stealth-cloaked ship with the Brantas would arrive soon.

I thought the first batch could stay near my stream. There were a couple of small ponds nearby, in addition to my own lodge reservoir. I was certain the area would easily support fifty more birds.

And I could keep a close eye on how well the refugees got along with the native birds. Most of the Terran avians currently living on the water were ducks. They were much smaller than the Brantas. And it was late summer so there shouldn’t be any squabbles about babies or goslings to worry about.

Next spring could be a different story. I hoped that the situation on the Branta home planet would be resolved by then. Maybe reducing the Branta population on their homeworld would make the Guurn more willing to let them survive?

And maybe all trees would produce sweet, sweet apples that would fall into my hand whenever I slapped a tree with my tail.

An Osanu can dream, can’t he?

I checked the board one more time for any messages, hoping that Gwengi might check in before the ship landed. I was certain she would after I’d had time to settle the birds. At least I hoped it would be her and not the Admiral. His face would not bring sweet dreams.

I slipped my wrist communicator on, removed and carefully folded my uniform and went through the motions of converting my research lair into that of a simple Terran beaver.

I missed furniture. At least I had secured funding for a true kitchen that was hidden with my Alliance technology. While I did enjoy some of the same foods as my Terran cousins, nothing beat a hot meal on a cold winter night. Bark from the local cottonwood trees got monotonous. And the local park rangers were rather obnoxious about fencing off the tastier trees. It was like they thought we weren’t smart enough to avoid killing all of the trees on the creek.

I stewed in righteous indignation for several seconds before I realized that the Terran beavers probably weren’t that intelligent. They were not yet sentient. Might never be sentient, for that matter.

But I wasn’t going to stay on this planet forever. Not even as guardian of Admiral Jaraicocer’s pets. I had plans to get onto the big speaker circuit and make thousands of credits every time I gave a lecture. And I would also become a visiting professor and travel the known Alliance space, telling all sorts of beings about my adventures with pre-contact sentients.

My wrist com pinged. The ship was about to arrive. I hurried out of my den and dashed to the flat space near the human picnic tables where there was room for the ship to land.

I took a few deep breaths to settle my nerves as I felt the pressure change from the landing ship. The night was dark with the new moon. Few humans in the surrounding homes came out late at night, and my creek was part of an area left undeveloped. The ship would have to de-cloak to let the passengers out, but there was little risk of discovery.

A pair of great horned owls hooted from a nearby tree. I hoped the night hunters would not be a big problem for the new guests. Their home planet did not have any nocturnal flying predators.

The Guurn resembled a Terran bird – the bald eagle, except their head feathers were more pink than white. And their heads were larger, though the feathers hid that. I was fairly certain that the Brantas would know to avoid the eagles and their smaller cousins the hawks and falcons that held territories along the creek. Admiral Jaraicocer could not blame me if their survival instincts were too weak for their own survival.

Thoughts bounced in my brain until I realized my wrist com was pinging again. The ship was ready to unload.

I took a deep breath, and winced as my tail slapped the ground. I had to find a way to get my unconscious reaction under control. Otherwise I would never be able to participate in a press conference where I told the mass media about my research projects. Sure as rain some smartypants reporter would ask a question whose only purpose was to cause me embarrassment and my tail would slap the stage and everyone would know that I was uncomfortable and that would be the main story. It never failed.

A faint whir accompanied the extension of a loading ramp. I drew closer as the hatch opened, silhouetting a tall Alliance member in crew garb. He held a tablet in one hand and peered out into the darkness, searching for me. I hadn’t expected them send a giant!
I waddled to the ramp, grumbling under my breath. This whole thing was bad enough. I wanted to be an observer, not a participant. I was not and had never wanted to be one of the foolish Field Agents who delighted in traveling to other planets and meddling in their affairs.

My conscience kicked me. They meddled only to help keep the Falgarans from invading, so that wasn’t really a bad thing. But I still preferred observing and recording events to making history. The historians truly had the power. Their recording of history was the version that the universe remembered. It didn’t always matter what the actual events were. It mattered what the recorded story was. I wanted my name written in the books as an author, not a hero.

“Lt. Gothar?” The giant’s voice shattered my thoughts. And the peace of the night.

I resisted my desire to shush him. There really was no worry of being discovered. Instead I hurried up the ramp and came to attention. I stretched as tall as I could, yet I barely reached his knees.

The being stared down at me for a long second and I regretted my decision to dress as a native to meet my new charges. I should have at least worn my uniform hat.

“I am Gothar.”

He nodded. “I have instructions from the Admiral to make sure these da…I mean the delightful Brantas are delivered safe and sound. It’s been a long trip for them and the younglings are…tired.” He tapped at his tablet.

My brain froze. Younglings? There were supposed to be only adults.

“I hope you have a big space. Our hold is a bit cramped and the birds are going to want to stretch out.”

“Wait!” I held up a hand to stop him from giving me any more information until I could process what I had. My neurons fired at the speed of sugar syrup in winter.

I was not good at reading expressions on fur-less faces, but I swore he looked at me with buckets of pity.

“I was told to expect 50 adult Brantas.”

He made a funny noise and his face skin turned a dark shade of red as he bit his lower lip. His snorts grew louder and finally he burst out laughing so hard he was unable to remain upright. He slowly sank to sit on the ramp beside me as he struggled to contain his mirth.

“Oh, my poor friend.” He held out the tablet so I could see the screen. “Someone at headquarters hates you.”

My eyes kept skittering over the numbers on the screen. My brain was obviously trying to protect me. But it was too late. I needed to know what I was getting into. Especially since I was about to take responsibility for some unknown number of animals near and dear to the Admiral’s heart.

I focused and my heart stopped beating.

200 adults and 50 goslings – not all of whom had parents.
The universe truly hated me.